All That Mattered
by Angustias
Summary: Arthur makes a terrible mistake that has lasting consequences for his sanity. "Blinded by the righteous zeal that burned in his eyes, he gave the order for the traitor to be executed, for the pyre to be lit." Rated T for safety.


**Apparently I'm just in an angsty Arthur mood right now, anyway, for those of you who didn't get enough of it in the latest chapter of Contrary to Popular Belief, here's some more!**

**Enjoy!**

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In the end, it hadn't been Mordred, or Morgana, or any of the sorcerers that had posed a threat to the city in the past who did it; no, it had been Arthur, the king himself, who destroyed Camelot. Destroyed it with his own hatred, his close-mindedness, his arrogance and inability to see past the blinding rage that burned through his veins and clouded his vision.

He'd lost count of the number of people who had pleaded with him, begging him to change his mind, to stop before it was too late; but he'd ignored them all, confident in his decision, heedless to the way the ground cracked and groaned under his feet. Looking back now he could see that the very stones of Camelot cried out against him, warning him not to carry out the nefarious deed, but he didn't listen.

He had settled his crown firmly on his brow, drawing his deep red cloak around his shoulders, wrapping himself in his own pride as he strode out onto the balcony, ready to make his father proud. Magic was an evil that was not to be tolerated; it had no place in Camelot and needed to be purged, no matter the cost, so Arthur had done exactly that.

He was deaf to Gwen's cries as she turned her head away from the gruesome sight, sobbing into Gaius' shoulder. Oblivious to the physician's tears as he gazed at his ward, who had become like a son to him. Blinded by the righteous zeal that burned in his eyes as he gave the order for the traitor to be executed, for the pyre to be lit.

He had watched as clouds of thick, black smoke billowed around the sorcerer, hiding him from view, and wondered at the fact that no sound escaped the boy's lips, not even when the flames licked at his skin, melting the flesh off his bones.

Towards the end, the smoke had cleared for a few seconds and the king locked eyes with the boy who had never been anything but loyal to him, who had never done anything to deserve this. They stared at each other for a long moment, then the boy, the sorcerer, said something that Arthur never should have been able to hear, something that would stay with him forever.

Just three simple words that shouldn't have mattered, but they did: "I forgive you."

At that, the scales over Arthur's eyes fell away and he realized what he'd done, where his pride and anger had led him. He tore the crown off his head and stared at it in horror, watching the rubies set along the band sparkle in the sunlight, they were red, like blood, and he flung it away from him as if his hands had been burned.

He fell to his knees crying out the one name that meant more to him than anything else in the world but it was too late, the boy was gone, and it was entirely his fault. His hands began to tremble and he stared at them, tears streaming down his cheeks, but the glimmering drops turned red as they fell, bathing his upturned palms with blood.

He screamed, tearing at his hair and retreated inside the castle, sprinting to his chambers as fast as his legs would carry him, thoughts running in an endless, merciless loop. _No. No. No! This couldn't be happening, oh God, what had he done_?

He slammed the door shut behind him and threw himself onto the bed, body racked with sobs, overcome with grief and guilt at his actions. He raged and wailed, tearing his room apart in a desperate effort to find some relief but nothing helped, nothing filled the empty aching hole in the middle of his chest where his heart should have been.

He was remembered throughout the ages, although not for the reasons the prophecies had foretold. He was forever known as the mad king Arthur who had torn his own kingdom apart, running it into the ground, after losing his mind to grief at the death of his friend.

Even to the end of his days, Arthur did nothing but sit in his room, staring out the window and thinking about Merlin, haunted by the sorrowful acceptance in those horribly tragic blue eyes, and those words. Those three little words that he should never have heard because, it didn't matter that Merlin had forgiven him. Arthur had killed, _murdered_, his best friend in cold blood, and for that, he deserved to suffer, for that, he could never forgive himself, and that was all that mattered.

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**Review?**


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